


The Tale of the Pink House

by BarPurple



Series: Halloween House of Horror 2018 [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ghosts, Gossip, Haunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 05:25:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16152500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: Most small towns have the odd ghost story. Nobody in Storybrooke was expecting their local spook tale to get a new lease of life.





	The Tale of the Pink House

The Pink House was well known in Storybrooke. The stately, but shabby Victorian sat on top of a hill where the edge of the town met the surrounding woods. The house had earned it’s capital letters in the minds of the townsfolk because of the owner whose reputation in town was as shady as the house was once gaudy.

Mr Gold had once ruled Storybrooke with a sly smile and water-tight contracts. Back then he was feared and grudgingly respected in equal parts. Most people would offer warnings against making a deal with him, but almost everyone in town had signed on the dotted line of one of his contracts at some point. Gold had to know about the rumours that whispered around town about him; suspicions of mob connections or deals with the devil. He never commented on them, and no one was brave enough to speak them to his face.

One year in early summer Gold crashed his Cadillac while driving from his shop in town to his Pink House. In the following months he went from being known as the beastly landlord to being called the poor cripple. He still owned a large chunk of the town, but the crash shattered and twisted his ankle and now people looked at him with pity. When the leaves turned from greens to yellows and reds that year Gold closed up his pawnshop and retreated into his Pink House. He wasn’t seen around town ever again.

Storybrooke hardly had time to begin calling him the Hermit on the Hill before another, more sinister rumour began to circulate. The high-schoolers who used the road by the Pink House as a make-out spot started talking about the ghost woman in white who wandered the road.

Under any other circumstances the outlandish tale would have been regarded as a prank, an elaborate fib to get out of trouble for missing curfew. Instead of being laughed off, the story gained momentum as the rescue crew mentioned that the night they pulled Gold from the mangled remains of his car he’d been raving about a woman on the road. The nurses at the hospital whispered the same story; Gold had been convinced that there had been a woman on the road that night.

The whispers grew in volume until the Sheriff stepped up and pointed out that there had been no trace of anyone else on the road that night, if there had been they would have found some evidence of them, and it wasn’t as if anyone had been reported missing. As the Sheriff reminded everyone, Gold had been in so much pain that night that it was surprising he hadn’t seen pink elephants dancing the Can-Can.

Logic and fact have no place in small town gossip. The rumours grew, weaving old into new; Gold’s accident was a botched hit due to his mob connections; the woman on the road was the enforcer sent to cripple him; or she was his secret lover who had been killed and buried in an unmarked grave near his house as warning; or she was a witch sent by the devil to haunt Gold for failing on a contract; or the crash was an illusion and Gold had actually sacrificed the woman in some unholy ritual.

As winter rolled into summer everyone in town had a tale to tell of an encounter with the ghost woman. Most witnessed her walking by the roadside and vanishing into the gates of the Pink House. Some saw her in the woods on the trail that wound around the edge Gold’s gardens. A few reckless souls claimed to have crept right up to the windows of the Pink House and swore that they had seen her sat on the couch reading a book. Everyone called bullshit on Keith Notts claim that the ghost woman had seduced him, because Keith was so drunk most of the time he couldn’t see his own feet never mind a ghost.

When the trees began to turn red and orange again the Sheriff paid an official visit to the Pink House. He’d finally had his own sighting of the ghost woman and had decided to try and clear up the matter once and for all. Mr Gold was accommodating, but the Sheriff found no answers. In fact, Gold claimed he had no recollection of seeing anyone on the road the night of his accident and pointed out that anything he’d said in the immediate aftermath was probably due to shock. Gold sent the Sheriff on his way with a polite reminder that he was a tax-paying citizen and had the right to privacy in his own home; if local law enforcement couldn’t stop people trespassing he would have to take the step of installing an electric fence, with all proper warning signs, of course.

The town was more convinced than ever that Gold was hiding something, but the Sheriff did manage to get people to stop trespassing.

Seasons rolled by. The paint on the Pink House began to peel until only traces of the colour remained. Gold never came into town. People walking the hiking trail near his house would occasionally glimpse him in the garden, but the only person who ever saw him face to face was his assistant. Dove was a man of very few words and none about Mr Gold ever fell from his lips. The ghost woman was seen frequently enough to keep the story in the minds of the town. A few supernaturally inclined tourists passed through town and spent a night or two driving along the road trying to catch a glimpse of the ghost. Most left town with a story, the truth of which was debatable, since some saw fit to add horrors like flaming skulls and rattling chains to their tales.

Almost a decade after Gold’s car crash the mystery of the ghost woman was about to be solved, and the truth was more surprising and outlandish than any of the rumours the good folk of Storybrooke had dreamed up over the years.

 

Gold hissed as he stretched his leg. He had got to stop falling asleep in his recliner. He rubbed his eyes and looked towards the couch. There was no sign that anyone had made use of it while he’d been asleep, then again there never was. He chuckled to himself as he scrubbed his hands across his face and wondered if he could be bothered to shave today. Ten years ago, that question wouldn’t have crossed his mind, the only way he left the house was cleanly shaven, freshly showered and fully suited. How times changed. Here he was in his pyjamas debating if it was worth the effort to get dressed today. Actually, now he thought about it, had he gotten dressed yesterday? The fact that he couldn’t remember was probably an indication that he should get changed. He stretched his arms over his head as he yawned and wrinkled his nose at the whiff from his armpit.

“Right. Shower and clean clothes. After a cuppa.”

Moving from living room to kitchen was a well-practised lurch. Every piece of furniture was strategically placed to provide support to keep the weight off his knackered right leg. It had been a slow process to position everything just so. For the first six months after his retreat from the world he’d persisted in using a cane. One day he’d decided that the damn thing was more trouble than it was worth inside and shoved it in the umbrella stand in the hallway. It had stayed there ever since, gathering an impressive coating of dust and cobwebs that he occasionally got the gumption up to wipe away.

“Gonna need to get more teabags.”

He’d given up on the cane about the same time he’d stopped looking for a replacement for the Cadillac. It had been a relief to finally admit that the idea of driving, even getting in a car, brought him out in a cold sweat. He’d not intended to become a hermit, but as he’d told countless tenants over the years; intentions were meaningless. Much like those tenants, he’d ranted and railed against the unfairness of his circumstances. Looking back, he’d not wallowed in self-pity for that long considering the drastic change the accident had made to his life.

He inhaled the steam from his freshly brewed tea and smiled at the chip in the rim of the cup. There were advantages to his solitary life.

 

Gold only remembered bits and pieces from the night of the crash. He recalled being angry, but he couldn’t remember what had roused his temper. He remembered the deer in the middle of the road, but he couldn’t recall which side of the road it had darted from. The tree he had very clear memories of, but the actual impact was thankfully missing from his memories. The intense pain had faded as pain often will, but the gut-wrenching fear was still as fresh and intense in his nightmares as it had been in the moment.

As he waited for the kettle to boil he went through some of the exercises that prevented his leg from becoming totally useless. He hissed at a particularly nasty sounding crack from his knee.

The one crystal clear memory was of the woman. She’d appeared from nowhere and reached through the shattered driver’s side window to hold his hand. She had blue eyes and chestnut hair. He remembered coughing out a mouthful of blood and one of his teeth to ask her if he’d hit her. In an accent he’d never forget she’d told him she was fine, and that he just had to hold on until help arrived. He remembered crying, something he’d not done in front of anyone since he was a wee laddie. She’d wiped his tears away and told him everything was going to be all right.

He’d believed her. And then she’d vanished.

Being cut free from the crushed metal and the trip to the hospital was a blur, as was the first few days in hospital. He’d been told he called out for a woman, grabbed the sleeves of doctors and nurses to ask them where she was. He blamed it all on the pain and medication, a pleasant dream conjured up by his shock addled mind.

He smiled as he poured the hot water into the chipped cup. He had cupboards full of whole crockery, but this was the only cup he every used.

Gold hadn’t seen her again until he returned home. She’d scared the hell out of him the first time she’d appeared in his living room. He’d shouted at her, demanding to know who she was and how she’d gotten into his house. She not responded, just stood there with her head tilted to one side giving him the most adorably confused look. He’d lost his temper at that point and thrown his tea cup at her, thinking that would startle a response out of her. The cup had sailed right through her and landed on the edge of the rug. Gold had gawked at her in shock as she’d daintily turned around and scooped the cup from the floor. She held it out to him and softly said; “It’s chipped.”

He took it from her with a shaking hand; “It’s just a cup.”

She’d given him a smile that lit up the room and then vanished. Gold clutched the chipped cup to his chest and wondered if he should lay off the painkillers. He’d not mentioned the incident to his therapist. Dr Hopper was already deeply concerned with his mental state, telling him he’d seen a ghost sounded like a good way to get himself committed.

There was no schedule to her appearances, sometimes her wouldn’t see her for weeks at a time and then she’d appear every night for a week. Those were the best weeks. There wasn’t much logic to her solidness either. Sometimes she would wall through furniture, other times she would pick things up and be able to curl up on the sofa.

With a sigh he sat down at the breakfast bar and stared out of the patio doors. The flowerbeds needed weeding. He might do that later today depending on how the weather behaved.

Dove was determined to keep him informed of the goings on in town. Gold had feigned interest in the comings and goings of the townsfolk, but when Dove mentioned the stories of a woman in white haunting the road outside his house he was truly intrigued. Dove appeared happy and relieved that something of the world outside had finally engaged his attention and did his best to collect every piece of gossip relating to the ghost. Gold had laughed for the first time in ages at the nonsense the town had dreamt up, but he never revealed to Dove that he was seeing the ghost on a regular basis.

She didn’t always speak, but from the occasions she did he had learned her name was Belle. He only once asked her how she had died, she’d been so adamant that she was very much alive and well thank you very much that he’d never raised the topic again.

On days when she would speak they would talk of books. Gold had always considered himself well-read, but Belle out-striped him. He began to read whatever she recommended and searched for obscure novels and stories. He didn’t often find something she’d never heard of, but when he did he smile was wonderful to behold. Over the years three of the rooms in his house had filled with books. Dove never complained about another request for new shelving, but he had begun to drop subtle hints about e-book readers.

Gold finished his tea and stood up. He hadn’t seen Belle for a week or so now, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t dropped in while he was sleeping. He cringed a bit to think that she had seen him in a grubby day old pyjamas. She’d never commented on his appearance, but she’d seen him in some states over the years. As he climbed the stairs he found himself wondering if she had a sense of smell. Gods he hoped not, he wasn’t exactly a nasal treat at the moment. He’d go through periods like this, where personal hygiene was just too much effort. He’d sternly tell himself that he had to do better, and for a while he would, but then a bad day would hit, and all his good intentions went out of the window again. Today may well be the start of another good spell.

As Gold was stepping into the shower a new arrival had just walked into Granny’s and had caused quite the stir.

 

Belle had visited plenty of small towns as she’d made her way down the eastern seaboard. She’d been met with everything from indifference to over the top friendliness, but she’d never been screamed at.

The waitress was staring at her, her mouth a perfect circle of surprise. Belle shuffled her feet and giggled nervously; “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The waitress stepped over the plates she’d dropped and strode towards Belle with a look of determination on her face. Belle flinched as she was prodded firmly in the shoulder.

“Ouch! What are you doing?”

“Woah. You’re real. Look sorry, just you look, well you look like our local ghost.”

Belle wasn’t sure how to take that. The waitress, who introduced herself as Ruby, took her arm and led her to a seat at the counter. She insisted on giving Belle a full breakfast on the house; “To make up for the screaming and poking.”

While Belle tucked into the food Ruby tried to explain about the local ghost, but she was interrupted by the other diners’ blatant stares, and corrections.

“Oi! Who’s telling the story here?”

“But you’re not doing it right, sister!”

“Yeah, you’ve not told her anything about Gold and his mob connections yet.”

Ruby sighed and batted away the hand of a man who was trying to take Belle’s pulse; “Keep your paws to yourself Whale. He’s the local doctor, but don’t take him up on the offer of a physical, you’ll only be disappointed.”

Belle sniggered as the doctor gave Ruby a wounded look before he laughed; “Okay Rubes, get Granny out here to tell the story properly.”

An older woman stepped out of the kitchen and peered at Belle over the top of her half-moon spectacles. This had to be Granny. With her grey hair and stern, but kind eyes she could have stepped out of a fairy tale. She nodded and leaned against the counter.

“You really are the spitting image of her. Never thought I’d meet you in the flesh, so to speak. Okay, so about ten years ago there was this man who owned the town, still does. His name is Mr Gold…”

 

Belle was feeling jittery when she left the diner, and it was only partly to do with how much coffee she’d drank. She wasn’t sure how she’d kept a neutral expression on her face as Granny told the story of Mr Gold and the ghost woman. It had been hard not to chime in and correct parts of the story. She knew most of it better than Granny after all. For a horrible sickening moment, she had thought this was some kind of elaborate practical joke, that somehow the townspeople had found her online dream journal and were making fun of her. It was a ridiculous burst of paranoia that she dismissed almost as soon as she had thought it. She wasn’t going to beat herself up about thinking it, after all it wasn’t every day that you discovered your vivid dreams had sparked a ghost story in a town you’d never heard of until this morning.

It was bizarre, all these years she’d thought of Gold as her ghost, a character she’d dreamed up, like a grown-up imaginary friend. And now she was walking along a road she’d only ever seen in her dreams going to meet him in the flesh. She laughed to herself; “I best be ready to duck. I know he’s got a mean teacup throw.”

Belle turned off the main road and on to the hiking trail in the woods after the second car drove by her and almost crashed. Storybrooke residents were only used to seeing her at night apparently, the last thing she wanted to do was cause a fender bender. For years she’d wondered if she was responsible for Gold’s accident, but over time he’d told her that it was a deer in the road that caused him to lose control.

They had talked about so much over the years, but never once had they mentioned where they lived. It was such a strange thing to overlook, but she had thought he was a dream and he had once asked her how she had died, so maybe it wasn’t that odd. The hiking trail was much tougher in reality than it was in her dreams. She managed to stumble over countess roots and almost turned her ankle on a stone hidden by moss. By the time she’d reached the crest of the hill she was puffing and feeling sweaty. She hoped Gold wouldn’t mind her less than perfect appearance. It wasn’t as if this was their first meeting, and she had seen him wear the same pair of pyjamas for three days straight, so she figured he wouldn’t be to judgemental.

She rounded a tree and there he was, standing in the flowerbed frowning at the plants. She smothered a giggle with her hand, he’d said before that he couldn’t tell the difference between weeds and plants. He was real. Gold was real. She threw her back pack over the fence that separated the woods from his garden and began to climb.

Gold looked up at the sound of swearing. Bloody hell! Some illiterate idiot had ignored all the warning signs and trespassed on to his grounds. It had been ages since this had happened. The electric fence had deterred most people, although he still got a few of the jocks daring each other to get zapped. It wasn’t lethal or dangerous, but there was enough juice to drop you on your arse, which is what had happened to his latest trespasser. He sighed, this would happen on Dove’s day off. Oh well, it had been quite a while since he’d shouted at a stranger.

He used the hoe he’d been attacking the weeds with as a crutch and limped closer. There was something very familiar about that chestnut hair.

Belle carefully sat up and shuffled away from the fence. Gold was hurrying towards her and any annoyance that she felt from getting shocked disappeared. She scrambled to her feet and smile at him.

“Belle?”

“Hello Gold.”

He stopped a few feet from her and stared; “You, erm, don’t normally get shocked.”

It was true. In her dream visits she climbed over the fence countless times, and never once connected the current.

She shrugged; “I’ve never been here in person before.”

Gold opened his mouth and then closed it again. He looked dumbfounded.

“In person?”

Belle nodded. Gold shook his head; “But you’re a ghost.”

“And I thought you were a dream.”

He laughed at that; “A nightmare maybe.”

Belle tutted at him; “Don’t say things like that about my best friend.”

As they had been talking they had edged closer to each other. Belle could see the amber flecks in his brown eyes. Gold noticed the sheen of sweat over Belle’s forehead. As one they took a deep breath and moved closer still. Belle’s arms wrapped around Gold’s shoulder as he dropped the hoe and reached for her waist.

“You’re real.”

“Yes.”

Gold was trembling. It had been years since he’d been this close to another person, and this wasn’t any person, this was Belle. His mysterious ghostly companion of the past decade, real and alive here in his arms. She was smiling at him and he felt himself mirror her. It felt natural to lean in closer as she did the same. Their lips met in a soft kiss that lasted no more than a heartbeat but felt like forever.

 

The tale of the Pink House got a new chapter in Storybrooke. In only took a few weeks for everyone to get used to the sight of their local ‘ghost’ shopping for groceries or chatting with Ruby in the diner. It took a while longer for them to get used to the idea of seeing Gold in town again. His fearsome reputation still lingered, but fade quickly, it was hard to consider the man a beast when you’d witness the look of adoration on his face when he looked at Belle.

There were still some strange rumours because a small town likes it’s fanciful gossip; Belle was a witch, or a succubus come to ensnare Gold; Gold had paid a woman to have cosmetic surgery to look exactly like the ghost; Belle was the twin sister of the woman who Gold had killed the night of his crash and she was here to get revenge. Dove kept Mr and Mrs Gold up to date with each new twist because it made them laugh, and after a decade of gloomy quiet it was good to her joy in the Pink House on the Hill again.


End file.
